


you might be sleeping

by hollowblossom (lilnepp)



Category: Gangsters in Love (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, and some contemplative stuff, just some nice fluff, maybe a bit of insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilnepp/pseuds/hollowblossom
Summary: “I do, though.” I whisper.“Do what?” She mumbles back, barely audible.“I love you.”She smiles, and so do I. I just let myself experience the moment, pushing the anxiety ridden thoughts to the back of my head.“I love you too, Rory.”
Relationships: Aurora James/Main Character
Kudos: 12





	you might be sleeping

Hunched over at the desk, I take a second to close my eyes and roll my shoulders back, resolving some long-lingering tension with satisfying cracks. I lean back into the plush chair, pulling my hands back from the keyboard and resting the palms on the glass surface of the desktop. My eyes dart around the space in front of me; the metallic vase holding a fresh bouquet of apple blossoms and baby’s breath and carnations, the printed out stack of work beside the laptop, and the stupidly exorbitant crystal floor lamp Irving insisted on when we redecorated the office space. 

_God, that thing is fucking ugly._

Inhaling slowly and sighing the breath out, I can barely keep my eyes open. The numbers on the screen are starting to blur together as I watch them climb and fall, the short video explaining some start-up company’s predictions and their report for the last financial year. 

When we’d decided to go legit, I didn’t think my new job would be to sift through hundreds of different stock market opportunities and email companies to inquire about their financial growth and other boring stuff. To be frank, I’d gotten the shit end of the stick, now being stuck as the gang’s effective actuary and money manager. My eyes have been peeling through thousands of web pages, emails, pitch videos and other things that my brain couldn’t have been more eager to forget, all of them blurring together in a blue-lit haze.

_Gotta make money somehow. Irving’s TV appearances won’t pay the bills forever._

I chuckle to myself.

_But fuck, what I’d give for a game of cards and a drink._

Glancing to my left, I see the picture of Juliet and Stella in a sweet golden frame that the latter decided needed some arts and craft remodelling. Now featuring feathers, macaroni and hot glue, the thing is possibly my most treasured piece of art. I stare at it for what could’ve been anywhere between thirty seconds and ten minutes, and then I glance at the time on the computer screen.

_3:24 AM_

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Might be time to call it a night.”

I fold the laptop shut as I rise out of the chair, taking a moment to properly stretch. I remove my boots, digging my fingers into the loops on the heels. I can feel pins and needles settling in my feet, and I hobble awkwardly to the doorway of the office space, giving the room a once over as I wait for my feet to stop feeling static, before flicking the lights off.

Feeling my pant pockets for my phone, I catch Ash stalking the halls in his pug pyjamas. 

“You’re up late.” I joke. A slight smile forms on his face as he exhales sharply through his nose. 

“You know I don’t sleep.” He volleys.

“And yet, you have this beautiful youthful glow to you. What’s your secret?”

“If I tell you, it wouldn’t exactly be a secret.” Ash concludes, nodding as he continues down the long hallway.

“What happened to honesty? I thought we didn’t keep secrets!” I call out. He waves behind him, a physical ‘ _scram!’_. My eyelids ache as I see a bunch of LEDs flicker on and pour out of his bedroom doorway.

Continuing on to the elevator, I step inside and press for the second floor. The elevator rises gracefully, letting out a melodic ‘ _ding!_ ’ as the doors open, and I step out into the hall, stopping before turning left. Clutching gently onto one of the doorknobs, I push it open, taking care to quietly push the door forward. 

I am greeted by Stella, fast asleep, somehow managing to be huddled in her blanket and yet in the most outlandish sleeping position, one arm thrust above her head and a leg folded up beside herself, and holding on to a small plush toy in her other hand for dear life.

_This kid._

A warm smile coming to my face, I grab onto the blanket and tuck her in, my movements methodic and slow. I brush her hair out of her face and she leans in to the touch, her forehead coming off a bit warm. Using this new information, I grab the air conditioner remote from her bedside table and bump it down a couple degrees, but no more. 

“Oh, Stella,” I whisper. “Baby girl.”

I give her a kiss on the forehead, looking over her.

_You’re safe. Safe and sound._

Just before I can worry that she’s sleeping a little _too_ soundly, she begins to snore. Classic Stella charm. 

As gently as I can, I pull the door with me until I hear a _click_. I rest both my hands on the doorknob and close my eyes for a second. 

_And if there’s any God up there, let it stay that way._

  
  


My tired feet drag along the tiled floor, and the hallway seems to go on forever by the time I reach the door to the bedroom. I can see a soft glow of light emanate from the crack underneath the door. My heart warms, and I can’t help but smile when I realise that if there’s a light on, she’s probably awake, and purely because I think she’s _cute_ and I love her (and for no other reason), I feel butterflies well up in my stomach. I haven’t seen her in hours. About six _long, long_ hours.

I swing the doors open, expecting to throw my arms around her and reap the rewards of working hard with a kiss, but Juliet is lying on her side on the bed, propping her head up on one elbow and her other hand resting on the blanket, curled up somewhat. I can see the book she was reading near that hand, half open, the cover folded back. Her long hair tied up loosely, stray hairs moving to frame her face.

“Oh, babe,” I sigh. 

I sit beside her on the edge of the mattress, then wedging myself so that I’m nearly spooning her. I watch as her hand slips and her head falls onto the pillow before she jolts awake, and I feel the shiver that goes down her spine. 

“Goodmorning, sweetheart.” I say softly. She turns her head to look up at me through tired eyes, some of her eyelashes intertwined at the corners. She inhales deeply, the breath coming back out as a yawn.

“I fell asleep.” She says in a voice drunk on sleep. My eyes trail from her eyes to her lips, and back up again.

_No time for that._

“You did. You remember what time?”

Juliet groggily shakes her head, turning so she’s laying on her back now. She shuffles over so I have more room. I brush her fringe away from her face with my fingers, trying to keep my touch delicate.

“Your fingers are cold.” She mumbles, reaching her own hands up to cup my cheeks. She lulls me into a deep, false security. Then she pushes my cheeks forward, a lazy smile on her face.

“You’re so funny. Like, a queen of comedy.” I say through squished cheeks, puckering my lips.

Juliet titters, but cranes her neck to meet me halfway, giving me a peck at first, and then a deeper kiss. 

_Which reminds me, I should brush my teeth._

“Have you showered yet?” I ask. She yawns again, a barely audible moan towards the end. Her lips are swollen, likely from sleeping with her mouth open, and she stares at me with an intense gaze. My mind wanders before I correct myself.

_Again, not the time._

“Yeah,” She answers, her voice more awake now. “I wouldn’t mind another one though.”

_Maybe it is the time?_

“Alright, but just a quick one.” I promise, standing and scooping her off the bed.

-

Forty five minutes (and some… _questionable_ activity) later, I’m watching Juliet remake the bed as I stand at the entry to the closet, and I sigh with content. 

It’s strange to think that this time five years ago, I wouldn’t have even been able to imagine any part of the life I have now - a beautiful wife, an incredible kid, a legitimate job, somewhat of a picket fence (if the picket was worth $12.4 million dollars). That person, _that_ Aurora, seems so far and different. Reckless; self-important, and angry. Someone who took and took, and couldn’t be bothered giving back unless it was sexually. All the scrapes with death, and the slow deterioration of my self esteem - not to mention my liver - as I coped as dangerously as possible; a ticking time bomb just waiting to self-destruct. As far as I’ve come, I still feel the twinge of a familiar but uncategorised guilt. As if I don’t deserve any of this. As if I didn’t work hard enough for it, like I was given a cheat code to life. As if it could be taken away from me at any moment.

The idea leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Once the train of thought begins, there’s no way to slow it down.

“Are you alright?” Juliet asks, big grey eyes peering into my soul. “You’re making that face again.”

“That face? What face?” I brush her off, forcing a half smile. She doesn’t seem to be buying it.

Tilting her head slightly to one side, she huffs.

“You can try to deflect, but I’m not giving up until you tell me what’s wrong.”

I exhale through my nose, smiling. 

_The jig is up._

“I just love you so much.” I say, not bothering with a top as I come towards the bed. I reach out for her, as if going in for a hug, but when she’s in my embrace I pull her down, which elicits a shocked giggle. And god, if you could be drunk on sounds, that would be my vice. That sweet sound, like fireworks and caramel popcorn, could lull me into the most pleasant dreams.

“Oh? That’s very nice.” She smirks, bringing one hand up to cup the back of my head, her thumb gliding back and forth on my neck. It gives me a shiver.

“Yeah, and so unfortunate. It’s interrupting my work.” I joke. I bring one hand up to rest dramatically on my forehead.

“Oh, woe is me,” I continue, adopting a wistful tone. “All this love and no outlet. I’m just full of love. Just really bursting at the seams.”

I close my eyes and heave a sigh as she strokes my hair gently.

“What’s really bothering you?” Juliet whispers, and I close my eyes, breathing in and out.

“Nothing is wrong.” I respond, exasperated.

_I’m terrified of losing you._

“I think we both know better than that, Rory.”

_I’m terrified that it’ll be all my fault._

“It’s seriously nothing.”

_I’m terrified that I don’t deserve any of this._

I imagine she senses that I don’t want to talk about it, because she doesn’t push any further. Instead, she pouts, looking away as she continues to weave her fingers through my hair. There’s a terse silence.

I know she's dying to crack my head open, find out what I'm thinking. But I can't talk about it, because talking about it means it becomes more tangible - more real. I like to think that maybe, just maybe, if I push it deep down, I won't ever have to acknowledge or think about it, like a shadow lurking in a hallway. I don't do it to keep things from her; I do it because I love her, and a part of me knows that she won't ever completely understand, no matter how much I open up about it. Plus, I feel as though this is something I can handle myself. One of these days, she'll work it out on her own; she's smart like that, and maybe it won't be a dreaded conversation that ends in an argument or the back of my eyes pounding, demanding a drink to soothe the oncoming emotional distress.

Still, Juliet stares away from me, eyes missing that sparkle, if only for a moment, and I know it hurts her. That I still struggle with vulnerability after the last few years. 

“It’s almost dawn. You’ve been up forever.” She says, a yawn breaking up her last word. “We should get some rest.”

I like the way she says it. Always together, always ‘we’; which I am more than grateful for, because I can’t stabilise myself when I’m on my own. I can’t fight the guilt and the anxiety. But she makes it worth fighting, and if she’s there, I know I can manage it.

By now, she’s moved so that my left arm hooks around her shoulders, and she rests her head in the crook of my arm, already breathing deeply. Calm. Content. And for a while, I just admire her and the tiny details of her face, like the barely-there freckles she covers with makeup during the day, or tiny little blonde eyelashes that mix among the darker ones. The curve of her cupid’s bow, or the way her lips part when she’s almost asleep. 

“I do, though.” I whisper. 

“Do what?” She mumbles back, barely audible.

“I love you.”

She smiles, and so do I. I just let myself experience the moment, pushing the anxiety ridden thoughts to the back of my head.

“I love you too, Rory.”

And we drift off to sleep like that, holding each other close, just us in our corner of the world. So precious, and so intimate; and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.


End file.
